Dedication
foranyoneterrified
thatitwon’tgetbetter.
thesepages
areproofthatitwill.
Contents
Cover
TitlePage
Dedication
AuthorsNote
TheDarknessFalls
TheNightPersists
TheDawnBreaks
TheSunRises
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor
BackAd
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
AuthorsNote
thisbookwasnoteasytowrite.asaresult,itmaynotbeeasytoread,either.
poetrystartedoutasadiaryforme.so,atthebeginningofthewritingprocess
forthisbook,ImadeapacttomyselfthatIwouldbecompletelyhonest.that
meansnothingiscensoredout.Italkaboutmentalillness,self-harm,suicide,
recovery,sexualassault,abusiverelationships,violence,andotherissuesthat
may not be the easiest to swallow. you may relate to pieces near the
beginning.youmayrelatetopiecesneartheend.oryoumaynotrelatetoany
pieces at all. whatever the case, know that it’s completely normal to be
overwhelmed by some of these topics. I know I was at first. I still am
sometimes. take care of yourself if you need to. put down the book if you
needto.reachouttomeifyouneedto.yoursafetyisalwaysimportant.so,do
whateveryouneedtodo.askingforhelpisnotweak,Ipromise.
it’shuman.
thereisnothing
morepowerful
thanagirl
withapen
whoisbraveenough
touseit.
TheDarknessFalls
somepeoplehavenightmares
ofbeingnakedinpublic,
ofhavingeveryinchofskin
ondisplay
fortheworldtosee.
thatusedtobemynightmaretoo.
butstill
hereIam.
flipthesepages.
takealook.
lost:
happiness.
chappedlips,
littlecrookedteeth,
alwayssmiling.
lastseeneatingicecream,
dancingtobackgroundmusic,
chocolatedrippingdownherchin.
iffound:
pleasetellher
Imissher.
Idon’tdance
anymore.
Icanpointtotheveryfirsttime
Ifeltaloneinacrowd.
Iwaseleven.
itwassummertimeand
mythoughtstastedsour,
andIrememberbeingconfused
becausebeforethen
theyhadalwaysbeensweet.
itwaslikedippingmytoe
intoapoolofsadness,
oblivioustothefact
thatIwouldsoonbesubmerged.
Idon’tknowwhoIam.
I’mtryingtolookatmyself
inthebathroommirror,
buttheshowersrunning
andtheglassisallfoggy.
I’vespentsomuchtime
tryingtobecomewhoIshouldbe
thatIlostmyselfalongtheway.
IcannottellyouwhoIloved,
orwhere,orwhen,orwhy;
Idon’trememberfirstencounters,
onlyeachgoodbye.
Ipushawayafeelingpassed
onceIknowit’sgone.
it’sfartoopainful,onceatdusk,
tothinkbackonthedawn.
Iamcrowded
inanemptyroom.
Iguessit’sthesilence,
theemptiness,
thenothingness.
itpushesonme.
ittellsmeyoutakeuptoomuch
space.
Ireply,
Iknow.
inmydreams
Ifeelhishandsonme.
whenIwakeup,
Icheckfornewbruises
shapedlikehisfingertips.
wheneverIwalkbyhim
Iinstinctivelydragdownmysleeves,
pullmyhoodietighter.
thebodyhestained
isalwaysondisplay.
Iscrubmyskin
alittletoohard
intheshower,
tryingtogethimoffme,
tryingtoshedanycellonmybody
hemighthavetouched.
sometimesIscratch.
sometimesIpeel.
sometimesIbleed.
thisisthepoem
Ineverwantedtowrite.
becausewritingmakesitreal,
concrete,
immortal.
andIdon’twantthismemory
onpaper.
Ionlywantiterased.
Ihavecometotheconclusionthat
Iamawalkingparadox,
amismatchedmixofinnocenceandexperience,
abottleofoilandwater
constantlybeingshaken.
Ioverthinkthedetails.
Imissthebigpicture.
Iamaperfectionist.
Iamaprocrastinator.
Ihavestrongopinions.
Iamindecisive.
Iamstubborn.
Iapologizetoomuch.
it’snotphysicallypossible
tobelikethis.
thereisareasonoilandwaterseparate
nomatterhowmanytimes
youshakethembacktogether.
Iamblackandwhitedots
inabodyshadedgray,
andIdon’tknowwhichpart
ofmyselfisthetruthanymore.
mercury:
mymoodchanges
toofastformybrain
tokeepupwith.
sometimes,Iamokay.
Ireallyam.
talking,
working,
laughing.
thensuddenly,
daytradesplaceswithnight
andmyneuronsfreeze.
Istoptalking.
Istopworking.
Istoplaughing.
allIcando
ispraythefrostbite
doesn’treachmyheart
beforethesunrisesagain.
thecarouselgoesroundandround,alovelyplacetoplay.
whatpicture-perfectinnocencetofitthisautumnday.
butnoonetellsthechildrenthatthespinningneverslows,
thatwe’realltiedtoourhorses;lockedinatourtoes.
noonetellsofdesperatemoments,dizzyandinsane,
thisblissfulshowofignorancenolongerjustagame.
blindedbythepastelpaintandchariotsofgold,
theslantedtruthofchildhoodisallthatthey’vebeentold.
leaveyourbrainatthedoor,mydear.
fromhereon,weareallheartandsoul.
takeoffyourshoes,watchyourstep,
don’ttouchanythingtoofragile.
Iambrittleandeasytobreak:
becareful.
thatway,whenyouleave,
youcanleavewithoutatrace.
thatway,whenyou’regone,
Iwon’tbe
hauntedbyyourmudtracks
andfingerprints.
Ican’thandleanothermesstocleanup.
inaworldofcoveredears
andmouthstapedshut,
thisismycryforhelp.
isthesoundofmyfingertips
brushingthekeyboard
loudenough?
canyouhearme?
I’vebeguntocensoryourname
likeacurseword.
inmyphone,
yournumberisunder
theonewhobrokeme.
usingyourname
wouldofferyoupity
andsympathy
andunderstanding.
usingyourname
wouldmakeyouhuman
whenyouhaveonlyeverbeen
aheartlessnightmare
tome.
googlesearchhistory:
howtocuresadness
chronicsadness
whatisitcalledwhenyoufeelmorenumbthansad
whydon’tIsmileanymore
howoftendoestheaveragepersonsmile
cansmilingmakeyouhappy
whyaren’tIhappy
depressionsymptoms
anxietysymptoms
suicidehotline
howtocuredepressionandanxiety
howtocuredepressionandanxietywithoutmedication
whattodoifmyantidepressantsdon’twork
whattodoiftherapydoesn’twork
aresomepeoplesadtheirwholelives
whattodoifyou’renothappyinyourownbody
whattodoifyou’renothappy
whattodoifyou’retriggered
alternativestoself-harm
suicidehotline
howbaddoesithavetobetobeconsidereddepression
suicidehotline
howtostopthethoughts
howtostopthesadness
howtobehappy
howtobehappy
howtobehappy
howtobehappy
howtobehappy
howtobehappy
howtobehappy
howtobehappy
howtobehappy
howtobehappy
howtobehappy
howtobehappy
Iamgoingstir-crazy
insidemyskull,
peelingoffthewallpaper
withshort,bittennails.
thereareno
emergencyexitshere:
Iamleftto
clawmyselfout.
there’sbloodonthebathroomflooragain,
mymotherwouldbeashamed.
myheadistheonethat’sguilty,
butmysoulisalwaysblamed.
threemonthsolder,threemonthsclean,
IthoughtthatImightwin.
butonceagainIfindmyself
digginggravesintomyskin.
noamountofpromises
canmakeorbreakthefight;
donotbelievethatIamwell
fromthesonnetsthatIwrite.
it’ssurvivalofthefittest,
noteveryonewillthrive.
we’repushedsofarthatwegoagainst
theinstincttosurvive.
thesewordsare
notpolished.
thesewordsare
notpure.
thesewordsare
venompurgedfrommyveins
andpouredout
onpaper.
thesewords
are
poeticpoison.
IcowerasIwalkthroughthehallway
likeIamlostinthewoods—
dodgingthepeople,
dodgingthetrees,
dodgingthelurkingfaces
behindeachcorner.
Iamthelittlegirlineveryfable,
everyfolktale.
thepowerlesschild,
theinnocentface,
redhoodupandbasketinhand.
weallknowwhatcomesnext.
Icatchaglimpseofthewolfintheshadows.
theglowingeyes,
thecurlinglip,
thepointedteethreadytoattack—
andIrealizeheiswearingyourclothing.
youhaveturnedmeintoprey.
andyouhavealwaysbeenthepredator.
venus:
canyouhearmyvertebrae
crackingunderthestress?
canyouseemyshoulderscavingin
undertheexpectations?
canyoufeelmyskinsplitting
andthemagmapouringout?
Iamnearingtheinevitable.
myspinewillgiveout.
myshoulderswillsnap.
myskinwillbreakdown.
Icanonly
withstandsomuch.
youheldmywrists,proppedmeup,andmovedmeonyourstage;
allmylifehasbeenascriptandyouwroteeverypage.
yousetabackdrop,paintedsmiles,hidwhatwaswithin;
comeone,comeall,andseehernow:thedollinhumanskin!
someoneonceaskedme
whatIwoulddo
iffindinghappinessmademe
unabletowriteanymore.
andtheanswer
issimple:
Iwouldgladly
neverpickupanotherpen.
whereisthehappy?
inelementaryschool,
Iwouldburstoutlaughing
inthemiddleofclass.
Iwasloudandoutgoing,
messy
andfunny
andhappy.
butsomewherealongthelineIlostit.
thefreedom.
theinnocence.
sometimesIimaginemyyoungerself
andIworryshewouldn’trecognizeme.
shelooksupatmewithpigtails.
therearegapsinhermouth
wherewigglyteethhavefallenout.
whereisthehappy?
shesays,
herbigbrowneyesopenwide.
andIneverhaveananswer.
Iworksohard
tobethehero.
butthenIsabotagemyself,
pickingoutpoisonedapples
andeatingthemlikecandy.
Iamtheantagonistic
protagonist
ofmyownstory.
darknessawaitsme;Ihearitwhisperingmyname,
callingmebacktotheplaceIseemtobelong.
mostpeopleareafraidofitsvoice.
notme.
thissteadysadness,
thisnumbnessthatholdsmesweetlylikealover,
itrunsthrougheacharterylikethelifethatneverwas.
ifthisismydemise,thenpreparemeforpeacefuldestruction.
Igiveandgive
andgive,
evenwhenithurtsme—
evenifthey’vehurtme—
untilthere’snothingleft
ofmeatall.
sacrificeisnotasglamorous
asit’smadeouttobe.
copy
imprintthosearoundyou
ontoyourself.
becomeasculptureofbodyparts,
amyriadofunfamiliarfingersandteeth.
pickandchoosewhoyouwanttobe,
andstandastheirmirror.
paste
takeamodelfromamagazine
andwearherlikeashield.
giveyourselftimeforthegluetodry,
lettheeyelashesstick
andthespotcreamharden.
rememberyourskin’stape
isnotdouble-sided.
cut
ripyourselfapartwhenyoufeel
yourpixelatedskinisfailingyou.
digbacktothebottom,
desperatelytryingtofindyourselfagain.
slashtheimperfectionaway.
quit
reachthepointwhereyourscreenisfrozen.
youhavetriedtoohardtowaititout.
allyouareisablankpaperwith
bitsofplagiarizedpieces
bandagingbrokenmargins.
itonlytakesonepressofafinger
toshutitalldown.
“whatyoucando
whenyoupresscontrol”
rightnow,Iamaroughdraft;
Iamheretobe
revisitedandrevised.
hardasItry,
Iamnotthegirlpoetsspeakof.
Iamnotmadeupofoceantides
andmyheartisnotacrystaldrum;
itwillalwaysbeaweapon
morethananything.
Iamanincompletemasterpiece,
fullofcrossed-outwordsandchanges.
nooneevercallsthefirstdraftbeautiful,
andIwillneverbethefinalpiece.
goaheadandfightme,I’llsurelyletyouwin,
commentonmybodyandI’llmakemyselfgrowthin.
you’rediggingnailsintoallthebruisesthatyoukissed,
I’mputtyinyourhand,butallyoudoisclenchyourfist.
earth:
Iburnandsmoke
tokeepotherswarm,
forgettingthat
Ineedtobreathe.
Icarryafirst-aidkit
whereverIgo,
forgettingthat
Ineedtoheal.
Igiveoutlove
toallwhowilltakeit,
forgettingthat
Ineedsomeformyself.
Iamdying
inordertokeep
everyonearoundmealive.
diggingupyourarteries
tofindproofofsomethingmore—
Iwanttoseebloodorboneornerves
oranythingatall
therehastobesomethingmore
(right?)
anever-endingsearch,
ahollowhole,
aspaceinsideasentence.
Itriedtoscratchunderthesurface,
butyouareallskinandskinandskin.
Iwantsobadly
tospilloutmysoul
ontothesepages,
butsomethings
arestuck.
somememories
clingtothesides
ofmyspirit
nomatterhowmuch
Itrytoscrapethemout.
Idon’trememberwhen
mylifeturnedinto
aseriesofsecrets
Iswallowdown
everytimetheytry
tocomebackup,
acollection
ofrussiannestingdolls
tapedshutsothat
noonegetsinside.
Ihavebecometrauma
packedinsideintrusivethought
packedinsidescartissue
packedinsidebraintissue
packedinsideskull.
Ihavebecome
anever-growingringofdefenses
sothatnoonecanfind
whatisatmycore.
foronce,IwishIcouldbethepoem
insteadofthepoetI’vebeen.
ratherthanformingmetaphorsonmytongue
they’dbedrapedontopofmyskin.
foronce,IwishIcouldbethereceiver,
insteadofhandingoutpiecesofheart.
asawriter,alover—Iseemtobedestined
togiveasI’mfallingapart.
TheNightPersists
lost:
innocence.
shorthair,
bigbrowneyes,
almostalwayswearspink.
lastseeninlarge,roundgoggles,
divingintoice-coldwater
justtofeelfearless.
iffound:
pleasetellher
Imissher.
Iamnotfearless
anymore.
“itseemslikeyou’rewriting
thesamethingoverandoveragain.”
that’sbecauseIam.
Iwriteaboutthis—
thesadness,
thebackpackofmelancholy
thatdigsintomyshoulderblades—
becauseeachpoem
isn’tauthenticenough.
Ikeeppouringoutmysoul,
buttheemotion
getslostintranslation.
Iwriteaboutthis
becausethereisnothing
elseinsidemetodigup.
nomoreideas.nomoremuses.
justdirt.
Iwriteaboutthis
becauseIneed
tofindmyselfagain.
andeverypoemthatcomesout
isjustanotherposterforamissingperson—
thepersonIusedtobe,
thepersonIwanttobe,
thepersonIwassupposedtobe.
Iwillwriteaboutthis,
overandoverandover,
untilIfindthem.
so,yes.
maybeIamwritingthesamething
overandover
andover.
butIhavenochoice.
howelseamI
supposedtofindmyself?
Iamwalkingoncreakyfloorboardswaitingforacrack—
waitingforsomethingtogiveoutunderneathme.
Iusedtobereckless.
Iusedtojumpandrunanddance
(becauseyoutoldmeto—
butitwasmyfaultforlistening).
now,Iknowbetter.
I’velearnedfromexperience
thattherearealwayssplintersinthewood,
tacksontheground,
asupportbeammissing.
thearchesofmyfeetwillcollapse
andIwillfallthrough.
oneday
(itmaybetomorrow,
itmaybenextweek,
itmaybenextyear)
youwillseewho
Ireallyam,
and
(crack)
“ohno”
(crack)
“Ididn’twantyoutogetattached”
(crack)
“thisisn’tright”
(falling)
“I’msorry”
(gone).
areyoufinewiththis?
itisallIcangiveyou;
bonesinsteadofskin.
allisfairwhenlove’sawar,
andeverydayisafight.
tonguesbecomethesharpestofswords
astheyclashoverwrongandright.
aphroditeandaresareplayingtheirgame,
mixingtheirpotionsforfun.
thisloveisawarandthebattleishere:
kissthebulletandloadthegun.
comeandsitwithme.
wecanwatchthedaygrowdark
aswedothesame.
hetoldmethatIcouldstopifIdidn’tlikeit—butthatheknewI’dlikeit.it’s
beensixmonthsandIcanstillfeelhishandcreepingdownmyside.Ifeelit
tuggingatmyshirt,slidingbetweenlayersbeforeIpushitaway.hesaidhe
knew I’d like it. it’s been six months and I still can’t sit on the basement
couchwithoutthinkingofthedayIsaidIdidn’twanttodoanythingandhe
pulledmyarmandledmeupstairs.hedidn’twanttopressureme,hesaid.it
wasjustnatural,hesaid.heknewI’dlikeit,hesaid.Ijusthadn’ttried.it’s
beensixmonthsandIstillshyawaywhenanyonetriestotouchmethatway.
becauseanarmovertheshoulderleadstoahandtracingdowntheback.he
saidheknewI’dlikeit.it’sbeensixmonthsandInolongersleepsoundly,
dreamingaboutzippers and sweatypalmsand beingtooscared to sayno.I
neversaidno.IsaidIguess,IsaidI’mscared,Isaidifyouwantto,IsaidI
don’tthinkIcandothis,IsaidI’msorry—orIsaidnothingatall.hetoldme
thatI couldstopifIdidn’tlikeit.butthatheknewI’dlikeit.it’sbeensix
monthsandmybrainstilltellsmeIshould’velikedit.Iwassupposedtolike
it.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolike
it.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolike
it.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolike
it.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolike
it.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolike
it.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolike
it.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolike
it.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolike
it.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolike
it.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolike
it.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolikeit.
threemonthsintotreatment
mytherapistasks,
doesanyoneknowabout
yourdepression?
Iperkup.
mydepression?
Ineverthoughtitwas
badenough
orseriousenough
ordevastatingenough
foradiagnosis.
Ihadmyselfconvinced
Iwasmakingitup.
caroline,
shelooksatme—
hunchedover,
sittingonthecouch—
whydoyouthinkyou’rehere?
question:
howwill
mymentalillness
affectmy
romanticrelationships?
whatwillhappen
whenIbecome
emotionallyvulnerable?
willtheystay?
hypothesis:
ifmysignificantother
seesallthesymptoms
ofmymentalillness,
thentheywillleave.
ifmysignificantother
seesallthesymptoms
ofmymentalillness,
thentheywilldecide
itisnotworthit.
theywilldecide
Iamnotworthit.
materials:
one(1)emotionally
dependentteenager,
strugglingwith
depressionandanxiety,
whobelievesshe
isunlovable.
Ihavevolunteered
tobethistestsubject.
four(4)peoplewilling
toletmeintotheirlives.
eachonewillbecome
anexperimentalgroup.
theyshouldbelieve
theycansaveme,
orfixme,
orignoreme,
oratleastputupwithme.
unlimited(∞)triggers.
thesearenecessary
inordertobringout
mysymptoms.
unfortunately,
thereisnocontrol
forthisexperimentbecause
Iwillalwayshavethesadness.
thereisnowayto
extractitfromme.
experiment:
waitandsee
howmuch
theycantakeofme
beforetheyleave.
observations:
thefirsttrial
lastedninemonths.
hehadthe
sameissuesIdid.
wewereboth
emotionallydependent.
webothbelieved
wecouldsaveeachother.
ofcourse,
wecouldn’t.
thesecondtrial
lastedlessthan
threemonths.
thebreakupcame
outofnowhere.
hisfinalwords
tomewere
youworrytoomuch.
thethirdtrial
didnotevenlast
longenoughto
collectappropriatedata.
helefttooquickly.
inconclusive.
thefourthtrial
is
pending.
conclusion:
myhypothesiswas,
insomeways,
correct:
mostpeopledidnotstay.
somepeopletried
tocureme,
andgotfrustrated
whentheycouldn’t.
somepeopledidn’t
believeme,
andgotscaredoff
whenIhadmy
firstbreakdown.
somepeoplesimply
gotbored.
butnotallofthem.
andIknow
Ishouldn’trelyon
lovefromotherpeople.
butifsomeoneelsecanloveme,
thatmeansit’spossible
formetodoitaswell.
conclusion:
Iamlovable.
allwriters,
weseemtohaveourmindsknotted.
abedheadofthebrain.
andwithribbonsofdarkmatter
braidedintoourthoughts,
wewillneverbeableto
comboutallthetangles.
butstill,
withpeninhand,
webrushandwebrushandwebrush.
mymemoryofyouisbittersweet;
asugarcoatedbulletinmybrain.
andwhenItrytothinkofthedeceit,
saccharinedrownsoutallofthepain.
Imissthewayyourneckcurvesintojaw,
yetloathemyselfforthinkingthatsamethought,
formonthaftereachmonth,Ineversaw
itwaswhatIcouldn’tgivethatyousought.
youpromisedmeyou’dneveraskformore,
asfingertips,theytraveleddownmyspine—
isitmyfaultfornotknowingbefore,
ifyou’retheonewhohidallthesigns?
youtookfromme’tilIwashollowedout
yetyou’llalwaysbetheoneIdreamabout.
thefirsttimeIfellinlovefeltlikemyfirsttimebehindthewheelofacar.it
wassomethingsocommon,Ihadseenitinmoviesandwhilewalkingdown
sidewalks,andIhadriddeninthebackseatwatchingmyparentstogetherfor
years. but once I was in the drivers seat, face-to-face with another person,
nothing about it was familiar. I had to learn all the different gears, the
emergencybrake,therearviewmirror.IspedthroughredsIdidn’tevensee,
stoppedshortatyellows,stalledatgreens.mysteeringwaswobblyandtimid,
living scared of everyone else on the road. but eventually, I got more
comfortable.nolongerhittingthecurboneveryrightturn.realizingwhento
usethebrightsandwhentoslowdown.Icouldturnontheradio,rolldown
thewindows,andswitchtocruisecontrol.theissuewithgettingcomfortable,
though,is youbegin tosee the speed limit asa guideline.you beginto see
stopsignsassuggestions.that’swhatlovedoes.soIforgottoslowdownat
yields. used the backup camera instead of looking behind me. paid more
attentiontothepersoninthepassengerseatthantotheroadinfrontofus.
andIthoughtI’dbepreparedforthefirstcrash,Ireallydid—Imean,theysay
ithappenstoeveryoneeventually.thefilmsshowtheminslowmotionwith
orchestralmusicinthebackground,andeveryoneendsupokay.butInever
realized how painful airbags were until it was my head slamming into one.
andIneverimaginedhowtheseatbeltwoulddigintomyshoulder,tryingto
holdmeinplacewhenmybodywantedtobreakfree.Ineverthoughtofthe
skiddingtires,theshatteredglass,theshatteredhearts,theeeriesilenceafter
everythinghadcalmeddown.nothingpreparedmeforthat.
andonceyouhavethatfirstcrash,yes,youmoveon—youdriveagain,you
throwawaythelovelettersandmeetsomeonenew.butyouneverletyourself
get comfortable. I spend an extra few seconds at every stop sign now. my
hands shake as I hold the wheel. my foot hovers over the brake, expecting
somethingtogowrong.everytimeIpickupspeedgoingdownahill,allIcan
thinkofisthateeriesilence.smokerisingfromthehood,heartbeatingoutof
mychest,breathslowandshaky, trying not to cry.Iamconstantlystuckin
thatmoment.wonderingwhereeverythingwentwrong,wonderinghowIwas
too blind to see it coming, wondering why I didn’t slam on the brake fast
enoughorswerveoutofthewayintime.onesecondeverythingisfine,and
thenextI’mjustapieceofthewreckage.theonlywaytopreventacarcrash
istoneverdriveinthefirstplace.andIguessthat’swhyIwon’tletmyselffall
inloveagain.
whenwilllovebecomegreaterthanlust,
orpowernotleadtopain?
whenwilltorturenotholdhandswithtrust,
orgreednotbepartofthegame?
whenwillwritingnotgrowoldandrust,
orfailuredetachfromfame?
whenwillwerealizeourcreationscombust
becausewearetheoneslightingtheflame?
playmovie.
twoshouldersagainsteachother,
yourheadonmine.
nextscene.
yousmileatmefromacrosstheroom.
nextscene.
mondayafterschool.
ourlegsareintertwined,
I’mlyingonyourchest.
youkissmyforehead.
rewind.
play.
youkissmyforehead.
rewind.
play.
youkissmyforehead.
pause.
...
rewind.
play.
youkissmyforehead.
Iletoutalaughandburymyfaceinto—
nextscene.
it’sdark.
I’mwhisperingapologiesintoyourshoulder.
ItellyouIdon’tknowifIcandothis.
andthen—
nextscene.
it’slight.
yourthumbistracingmyspine.
you’relaughingathowIflinchatyourtouch.
pause.
wereyouunhappyinthisscene?
wereyouacting?
youmust’vebeen,because—
play.
twodayslateryouweregone.
endofmovie.
mainmenu.
sceneselection:
mondayafterschool.
Iknowyoudon’tthinkofmeanymore.
I’msureyourmemorieshavegathereddust.
andyetIstillfindmyselfhereatnight.
youkissmyforehead.
pause.
...
rewind
play.
youkissmyforehead.
rewind.
play.
youkissmyforehead.
rewind.
play.
it’sjusthide-and-seek.
heslippedaway,nowIspend
mylifetimesearching.
mars:
Iamtiredofthefight,
tiredofcombat.
allithasdone
isleaveredonmyskin
andmakemyownlife
feelalientome.
Ihavetodecide:
thisiswhereIsurrender,
orthisiswhereIfinally
makepeacewithmyself.
I’msureyou’vebeenofferedtheworld,
you’redeservingofeachinchofland.
Ibetyoucouldsewupthevalleysandmountains
withjustthetouchofyourhand.
I’msureyou’vebeenofferedtheworld,
butmypocketshaveallbeenwornthrough.
soI’llwriteyouanocean,I’llwriteyouasky,
andhopethat’senoughforyou.
don’tmistakethefreefall
forfloating.
Ididthatonce.
Ineversaw
thepavementcoming.
lastnight
Ifeltit.
happiness.
Ididn’trecognizethesparkatfirst.
Ihadforgottenwhatitwaslike.
butthen,
thereitwas.
aflashoflight.
asecondofwarmth.
aglimmerofhope
whenallIhadforyears
wasdarkness.
andjusttheidea
thatthismightnotlastforever
ismotivationenough
tokeepgoing.
somehow,yougotintomybrain
whenyoucalledmeperfect,but
Icouldn’tbelieveit
allthebeautifulthingsyousaw
wereneverthere;forIwasfilledwith
sadnessandpain
Iwasworthless.
Inolongerthought
Imeantsomething.
everyonetoldmeIcouldn’t.
andoneday,thatwasallIbelieved,evenwhen
youtoldmeIcould.
Iwasafailure.
Icouldn’tbelieve
whenyousaidIwasspecial.
Itoldyounotto.
but,youkepttryingeventhough
Iwasamess.
runaway.
Ican’tbelieveyoudidn’t
thedayyoufirstmetme
(ayearlater,Ireaditbackward)
thetreeswriteincursiveroots
thatyoucannotdecipher.
youwerepromised
block-letterbranches.
experienceneverquitematchesup
tothetextbook,
butrememberthatyou
arenotilliterate.
lifeislearningtoread
themessyhandwriting
oftheearth
whenschoolonlyshowedyou
clear-cutletters.
fightsandfearsforalltheseyears,
butmaybeI’mnotsoinsane;
mybirthdaycakecurespastmistakes
witheachblown-outcandleflame.
myskinhasscreamedthroughstitchesseamed,
butIwokeuptoday;stillalive.
Icanholdonforlonger,maybenowI’llbestronger
forthenextthreehundredsixty-five.
shewasradiance
shoulderbladesandbeachesandorangeheadphones
carsicksaturdaysandcardgamesIcouldneverwin,
justlikeherheart.
butIthinkI’mokaywiththat.
atleastIplayedthegame:
pokerfaceon,cardsdown.
andthat’senough.
sometimesourcalveswouldbrush
aswesatwatchingmovies.
andthat’senough.
Iwasawkwardandshewasgraceful,
Iwasnothing
andshewasabsolutelyeverything.
butforasummershedealtmein.
andthatisenough.
theproblemwasnot
askinghim
tocompleteme.
theproblemwas
believingIwasincomplete
tobeginwith.
youalwayskeptyourself
afewstepsaheadofme.
Ispentallourtimetogether
outofbreath,
tryingtocatchup.
youwerethefirst
tofallinlove.
thefirst
tofallout.
itwasasif
therewasalag
inmyversionofreality.
asif
youwereatimezoneahead
whilesittingright
nexttome.
today,
Isawthatyouhave
alreadymovedon
tosomeoneelse.
Iguessmyclock
isstillafew
hoursbehind.
somedaysI’mokay,
whileotherspullmetotheground.
I’lldigthroughdirtsearchingfor
happinessIthoughtI’dfound.
thedarknessscaresmemore
nowthatIseeachanceatlight;
thatflareofhopeispushingme
tonotgiveupthefight.
theysaythatIamtooyoung
totalkaboutlove—
thatIdon’tunderstandit.
andmaybeIdon’t.
butneitherdoes
anyoneelse.
whenitcomestolove,
claritydoesnot
comewithage.
letmeagonizeoverit
justlikeeveryoneelse.
thefirstone,
hegavemeatoyplanetwithamoon.
it’sfunny,
becauseitwasexactlylikeus:
myliferevolvedaroundhis,
Iwasstuckinorbit.
hewasspinningandspinning
andspinningoutofcontrol
andyethewasallIcouldsee,
wrappingmyselfaroundandaround
evenifgravitypulledmetootight.
ittookmeayear
tothrowthecheapthingaway.
thesecondone,
hegavemeabrokenpiece
ofabridgehe’dbuilt.
it’sfunny,
becauseitwasexactlylikeus:
snappedunderpressure.
Itracedthesandeddesign
withmyfingertipsthedayheleft,
seeingmyfemursandvertebraeineverypiece,
abrokenskeletonofsomething
pushedfarpastitslimits.
Istillkeepthepieceonmybookshelf.
itremindsmeofwhoIusedtobe.
thethirdone,
hegavemenothing.
it’sfunny,
becauseitwasexactlylikeus:
emptyandsilent,
nofootprintscomingorgoing.
fadingasfastasithadcome.
foraminute,Iconvincedmyself
Iwasn’thollowedout.
butnomatterhowdeepIdug,
Icouldn’tfindmyself.
therewassimplynothingthere.
jupiter:
thedoctorrollsupmysleeves
andasksifthemarksarenew.
Itellheryes,
butthatitwasafter
threemonthsofbeingclean.
thetherapistpullsback
myexosphere.
it’shardformeto
letsomeonelookat
thestorms.
butIletheranyway.
I’mtrying,
andmaybeI’mnotsucceeding,
butit’sastart.
lookatthemesswe’vemade:
twocottoncandyhearts
unraveledacrossthesofa.
lightpinkandbabybluenever
quitemadepurple,only
meltedsugarandstickyhands,
mismatchedcolorsand
twobodiescaughtupinthestrands.
monthshavegoneby,
andsometimesIstillfind
saccharineundermyfingernails.
andIhatemyselfforhoping
thatsometimesyoudotoo.
Inevertoldyou
howmuchdamageyoudid.
mylimbswerenotmeant
tobendinthosedirections.
thisismetellingyou
howyoupulledmyjoints
outoftheirsockets.
thisismetellingyou
howyouleftmewith
allmyligamentstorn,
disconnectedbones
floatinginsideskin.
thisismetellingyou
howyoumademebelieve
itwasformyowngood.
well,
notreally.
you’renotreadingthis,
anyway.
I’vealways
beenintrigued
byhands.
howthesamemesh
ofboneandbloodandnail
thatcaressesaface
cooksameal
holdsachild
canalso
formafist
gripaneck
pullatrigger.
weallhavehands.
weallhavethepotential
toprotect
andcreate
andlove.
weallhavehands.
weallhavethepotential
tohurt
andsteal
andkill.
weallhavehands.
butwhatweusethemfor
isuptous.
findyourself
inapage.
lookat
whereyouare.
findyourpast
inthepages
before.
lookatallthat
youhavesurvived.
findyourfuture
inthepages
after.
lookatallthat
youhaveahead.
thisisnot
theendofthebook.
youareright
attheheartofit.
keepreading.
TheDawnBreaks
lost:
insecurity.
shakyvoice,
looseclothing,
alwayssuckinginherstomach.
lastseentheotherday
forasplitsecondinthemirror,
tellingmeshewasright.
iffound:
pleasetellher
Iknowshemeantwell.
butIhavenothingtohide
anymore.
apillowisnotatissue
orashoulder
oratherapysession.
butyoucan
cryintoit.
ajournalisnotafriend
orahotline
oratherapysession.
butyoucan
ventintoit.
poetryisnotanintervention
oraprescription
oratherapysession.
butyoucan
healwithit.
firststepsarealways
moreimportant
thantheyseem.
totheonewhowilllovehimnext:
he’sbeenthroughsomuch.
helphim.takeitslow.
smooththesplintersothershaveleft.
I’msureafewofmineare
stillembeddedinhisskin.
whenitcomestosuicide,
weliketotalkabout
howthepersondied:
aguntothehead,
anoverdose,
aropehangingfromtheceiling.
butpeopledonotdie
fromarope
hangingfromtheceiling.
peoplediefromdepression.
apersondiesfromsuicide—
fromdepression—
everyfortyseconds.
Iamonlyoneperson
withonelife
withonestory.
buteveryonehastheir
stackofstanzas.
somepeoplejustdon’tlive
longenoughtopublishthem.
whileyouwerereadingthis,
someonecommittedsuicide.
thispageisforthem.
fifteenthingsyoushouldknowaboutme
one.
IkeepmyringeronwhenIsleep,justincase.
two.
Ilovethefeelingofahug(thoughI’llneveradmitit).
three.
I’mahopelessromantic.
four.
IpickaroundmynailswhenIgetnervous.
four.
youmakemenervous.
four.
you’rebadformynailbeds.
five.
Ilovefiguringthingsout.seeingthings.knowingthings.
six.
Ineverunderstoodwhytheycalledtheromantics“hopeless.”
seven.
I’vewantedtobeadoctorsinceIwasakid.
I’vealwaysbeenamazedbythesoundofalive,beatingheart.
eight.
wordsmeanalottome.
eight.
Iwishyou’dusemoreofthem.
nine.
onthefirstday,weintroducedourselves,
laughingandwonderinghowwehadnevermetbefore.
I’mstillwondering.
ten.
Iwanttostoppickingatmyfingersincaseyoutrytoholdmyhand.
ten.
I’vethoughtaboutyouholdingmyhand.
ten.
Iwantyoutoholdmyhand.
ten.
I’mscaredyou’lltrytoholdmyhand.
eleven.
I’mnotcomfortableinmyownskin.
I’vebeentoldthere’sfartoomuchofit.
twelve.
youmakemelesshopeless.
twelve.
Idon’tthinkyouwantromantic.
thirteen.
thisismyfavoritenumber.alwayshasbeen.alwayswill.
fourteen.
I’dbeokaynotbeingbeautiful,aslongasyouthoughtIwas.
fifteen.
Iwrotethislistinsteadofmessagingyou.
fifteen.
Iwrotethislistinsteadofpickingatmynailbeds.
fifteen.
they’rerawanyway.
...
fifteen.
Idon’twanttostoptyping.maybeit’sbecauseIknowyou’rereading.
fifteen.
Ihopeyou’rereading.
this
isametamorphosis.
notintermsofbutterflies,
whereatinycaterpillarhidesaway
andemergesassomethingbeautiful.
butintermsofchange.
recovery.
humandevelopment.
adolescencedoesnot
comewithacocoon.
thereisnograndtransformation
toholdoutfor.
justgrowth.
ninety-ninepercent
ofeveryatominyourbody
isemptyspace.
ninety-ninepercent
ofthispage
isblank.
ourexistence
(ourpoetry)
(ouruniverse)
relies
onnonexistence.
Icannotwriteflowingpoetry
aboutthecolorofhiseyes.
Icannotformhaikus
aboutthecurveofhislip.
Icannotmoldverseafterverse
abouthisskin,
orhishands,
orhiswords—
forthefactofthematter
is
heisnotpoetry.
andmaybethat’sokay.
maybethistime,
Icanfallforaperson
insteadofahuman-shapedstanza.
Iwanttobeadoctor.
maybeasurgeon.
howniceitwouldbe
togofromcuttingmyownskin
inordertoharm,
tocuttingsomeoneelse’sskin
inordertoheal.
loveisachemicalreaction
Ican’tmakeanyreferencestogod
ortheheavenIfoundwhenImetyou.
Ican’ttalkaboutfateoraunitingofsouls.
Iamapersonofscience,
along-practicingatheist
withatextbookasmybible.
butsomethingintheway
myfeetfeellighteronthepavement
whenIwalknexttoyou—
howyourarmbrushesmine
andsendselectricitythroughmybones
(eventhoughIknow
it’snotscientificallypossible)—
somethinginallthatmakesme
second-guess
mydenialofsomethingoutside
ofthescientificallyproven.
becausemaybe,
justmaybe,
youareproofenough.
don’ttellme
mybrokenness
isbeautiful.
this
isnotbeautiful.
this
nearlykilledme.
this
isnotsomething
foryoutoromanticize.
Iambeautiful.
this
(depression)
(anxiety)
(pain)
isnot.
it’sokayifsomethings
arealwaysoutofreach.
ifyoucouldcarryallthestars
inthepalmofyourhand,
theywouldn’tbe
halfasbreathtaking.
thereiscomfort
inthestillness.
inthemomentbetween
theendofonestanza
andthestartofthenext.
inthefreezeinaglance,
inthepauseofatongue.
theinhale,
waiting.
youdon’tlooklike
acompletethought.
youarepausedatasemicolon
placedbyacarelessauthor.
I’mwaitingfor
thesecondhalfofthesentence
whenmaybethere
isn’tevenoneatall.
butoureyeslockfor
aninfinitesimallysmallmoment,
andIamcalm.
Idonotknow
ifthisistheend
orthebeginning
ornothingatall.
sofornow
Ijustinhale,
andwait.
lightingaflameisexciting
andlovelyandwarm.
you,
youareexcitingandlovelyandwarm—
butsofleeting.
therewillneverbeenough
kindlingforthebothofus.
thehappiness
willcomeslowly,
thewaylightfiltersin
throughthewindow
intheearlymorninghours.
soslowly
youdon’tevennotice
thenightisending,
untilyouwakeup
andseethesunlight.
Ishyawayfrom
callingmyselfapoet.
emilydickinsonisapoet,
Isay.
johnkeatsisapoet.
Iamaperson.
Iambarelyeighteenyearsold.
Ithinktoomuch,
Ifeeltoomuch.
Iwritetosoothetheache
inmyheart
(ormyhead)
(ormylungs).
poetcomeswith
apedestalofpapers,
withacrown
presentedbyoldmen
industylibraries,
poetcomeswith
everyword
underscrutiny.
then
Ibegintopicture
ayounggirlnamedemily,
soundingoutwordsonpaper
andtracingoverletters,
excitementgrowingwith
everyshakyvowelandconsonant.
andIpicturejohn,
justshyoftwenty,
studyingtobeadoctor,
butalwaysbeingdrawn
backtowriting.
then
Iremembermyself.
nineyearsold,
writingmyfirststanza
aboutabutterfly.
Icanseethepieceofpaper,
theerasershavings.
Icanfeeleachpuzzlepiece
shiftingintoplace.
Iremindmyselfthat,
inthebeginning,
therewerenopedestals.
therewerenocrowns.
justemotions.
Iremindmyselfthatpoets
alwayshavebeen
just
people
whothinktoomuch,
whofeeltoomuch,
whosoothetheiraches
withtheonlythingthat
makessense:
words.
Ihavenopedestal.
Ihavenocrown.
this—
thisistheonlything
thatmakessensetome.
Ikissedyourbirthmarks—
littleislandsonyourskin;
new,discoveredlands.
Iknowyouwanttodrownyourselfinthesadness.
it’scomfortingtoletitsurroundyou,
heartpulsing,lungsaching
asyoufeelitoverwhelmeveryinchofyourskin
anddiffuseintoyourcells.
butIhopeyouknowsadness
isarevolvingdoor.
onceyou’reinit,
lettingthesadnesstakeyouaround
andaroundandaround,
itwon’tstoponitsown.
you’lljustkeepgoingaround
andaroundandaround.
that’swhyyouneedto
fighttostopit,
fighttostopspinning,
fighttogetout.
getoutofthatinfinitesadness.
getyourselfoutofthatgoddamndoor.
revolvingdoorsfeelrelentless,
butIpromisethereisanexit,
asurfacetothesadness
youaredrowningin.
thereisoxygenwaiting
tofillyourlungs
anddiffuseintoyourcells.
saturn:
thewoundshavehealed
andthescarsarefading.
myskinispale
andsmooth.
I’vestartedtoconfide
inmyclosestfriends.
theyembraceme.
supportme.
surroundme.
forthefirsttime,
itisscariertothink
aboutgoingback
thantothink
aboutmovingforward.
ourfirstnighttogether,
wetalkeduntil
birdsbegantosing.
wewerehuddledtogether,
underthecomforter,
discussingtheformation
oftheuniverse.
completelyunaware
thatwhenourfingersfirsttouched,
itwasthebigbang
alloveragain.
completelyunaware
oftheinfiniteuniverse
thatwasjustbeginning
toformbetweenus.
thecloset
ismoreofaprism
thananything.
it’sokayifyou
haven’tcomeoutyet.
youarestillrefracting.
Ihavebeencalledbrave
fortakingasawtomyribcage
andputtingmyheartondisplay.
forputtingaspotlight
onmychestcavity
andcallingaudiencestolook.
butIwasnotbrave
whenIstartedwriting.
writingwasnotastage
oramuseumexhibit—
itwasanechochamber,
awaytotalktosomeone,
evenifthatsomeone
wasmyownvoice
bouncingbackatme.
thatwasnotbrave.
thatwassurvival.
butitwasbravetokeepwriting
oncepeoplewerelistening.
itishardtoadmitsomethingtoyourself.
itishardertoadmitsomething
toyourfriends
family
teachers
futurepartners.
itishard,
butI’mdoingit.
andthatisbravery.
september13,2015
mysixteenthbirthday
mymomasksif
Iwanttogetmylearnerspermit
anddriveforthefirsttime.
Isayno
andaskhertotakeme
toablooddriveinstead.
therearescarsinches
fromwherethenurse
pushestheneedlein,
butthat’salltheyarenow:
scars.
Iamsevenmonths
cleanofself-harm,
andIamfinallylosingblood
fortherightreason.
myveinsareonlyopening
tohelpfillsomeoneelse’s.
hetellsme,
youareacomplicated
persontolove.
Iknow,
Ireply.
Istrugglewithit
everyday.
therearetimesthat
Iamdoingsowell,
Istoptakingmymeds.
andsuddenlyIfeellike
thelightswitch
hasflippedoff.
andsuddenlyIfeellike
Iamnotbetterbecause
ofmyhardwork.
andsuddenlyIfeellike
afraud.
Itrytoremindmyself
thatthebrainisanorgan,
thatthisisadisease,
thatdiabeticsneedinsulin
andnoonethinksofthat
ascheating.
Itrytoremindmyself
thatthisisnotaboost,
thisisatreatment.
soIswallowmypride
alongwithmypills
andletmyself
getbetter.
somewhere
there’samessofpillows.
freshwhitesheetsand
thecomforterpulledclose,
andyou—
alwaysyou.
somewhere
theclockalwaysreads
threea.m.
thesunnevercomesup,
andthebirdsaresilent.
Ineverhavetokissyougoodbye.
somewhere
theentireuniversecondenses
intoabedroomonthesecondfloor.
nothingexistsbeyondthewhitewalls,
andallofspaceandtime
iswatching.
somewhereisnothere.
here
thesheetsfalloffthebed,
theclockkeepsmoving,
dayspassby,
thecalendarpagesflip.
here
Iputonmyshoesand
closeyourdoor—quietly—
tonotwakeyou.
butyoushouldknowthatinmydreams,
wearealwayssomewhere.
halfasleep,
skintoskin,
theworldholdingusgentlyinitspalm
forjustonemoresecondonrepeat,
beforethelighthitsyourwindow.
themessofpillows.
thefreshwhitesheets.
thecomforterpulledclose.
andyou—
alwaysyou.
uranus:
sometimespeopledistancethemselves
whenImentionmymentalillness.
theylookatme
likeIamaboxofmatches
readytoburnatanysecond.
theylookatme
likemyworldis
tippedonitsside,
revolvingthewrongway.
Ithinktheirheads
arejusttilted
fromsomuch
skepticism.
somethingaboutus
alwaysfeltso
safe.
youcouldhave
caressedmyface
withknifeinhand,
andIwouldhave
leanedincloser,
andfallenasleep.
somethingaboutus
alwaysfeltso
comfortable.
Iwatchedus
goupinflames.
andallIdidwas
warmmyhands
intheglow
andsmile.
butafterall,thescarswillfade.
yourskinwillhealandberemade.
theclockwillhittwelve,thepatcheswillmend,
summerwillcomebackaroundagain.
thesunwillriseandmindswillchange,
constellationsslowlyrearrange.
dustycoalwillturntodiamondsthatshine,
forallofourwoundswillbehealedwithtime.
notallhumans
areconsumers.
somearepredators.
theywillbite
intoyourflesh
inordertogrowtaller,
andnotcareabout
thebodycountintheirwake.
somearedecomposers.
theywillwait
untilyoufalldown
inordertofeast
onwhat’sleftofyou.
theydonotgrieve.
onlyrejoice.
butsome,
someareproducers.
theywilltradeyou
sunlightforlove
andthenofferyouboth.
theywillbloom
wheneveryousmile,
andsmilewhenthey
gettoseeyoubloom.
youcaneither
makeagraveyard
oragarden.
youcaneither
rot
orgrow.
sometimesIthinkwewill
alwayscomebacktoeachother.
notbychance,
butbychoice.
thereisnomagneticpull,
norighttime
orrightplace.
thestarsarenotalignedforus.
sowereachourhands
uptothenightsky
andrearrangethemourselves.
depressionnowfeels
likeanoldsweater,
worninandfrayed
attheedges.
sometimesIamcold
andlonely,
andtrytoputit
backon.
butthesleeves
aretooshort.
it’stightaround
themiddle.
thematerialitches
inawayIdon’tremember.
I’mnotready
tothrowitoutjustyet.
but
thesadnessisn’tas
comfortingasitusedtobe.
I’mmadeoffourdimensions—spaceandtime,heartandsoul
Iammyownuniverse;infiniteandwhole
myskinisnotaboundary,I’mtoomuchtobecontained
morethanperson,morethanwords,Icannotbeexplained
mythoughtsfilluptheroomastheyseepthroughallmypores
they’llleakoutallthewindows;they’llbreakdownallthedoors
sodon’tyoudaredefineme,Iammadeupofunknowns
youcannotholdmeback,Iamnotcagedinbymybones
TheSunRises
lost:
depression.
tiredeyes,
rawnailbeds,
alwaysinabaggysweater.
lastseentheotherday
forasplitsecondinmathclass,
tellingmeshemissedme.
iffound:
pleasetellher
sheisnotwelcomehere.
shedoesnotcontrolme
anymore.
youareholding
twohundredpages
ofcellulosepulp
andprinterink.
youareholding
twohundredpages
ofmemories.
everydoctorsvisit
triptothemall
phoneconversation
softballgame—
it’sallhere.
haveyouever
heldyourlife
inyourown
twohands?
becauseIhave.
youareholding
myexistence
inthepalmofyourhand.
andIdon’tknow
ifthat’sfreeing
orterrifying.
youcan’trootyourself
intheground,hopingtheworld
willgrowaroundyou.
youweremadetodo
morethanhideintheshadows
ofanothersleaves.
sometimes
mythoughtsaresojagged
theychipmyteeth
ontheirwayout
ofmymouth.
Iusedto
swallowsandpaper,
weardownmyvocalcords,
smoothoverroughedges
tomakesure
Ididnodamage.
now,Ileavemywordssharp.
Iattachthemto
thenockingpoint
atmylarynx
andpullbackthestring,
sothatwhenthey
hitthetarget,
theypierce.
watchasthey
flythroughtheair.
ready.
aim.
fire.
anapologytoeverypsychiatristIfiredalongtheway:
thefirstone:
Iwasonlytwelvewhenwemet.
Ispentourfirstsessions
refusingtospeakoutofspite
andourlastsessions
pretendingtobeokay.
Itoldmyparentsyouwerecrazy.
butitwasn’tyourfault,
itwasmine.
thesecondone:
therewasabasketoflollipops
onthetableinyouroffice.
Iorganizedthembycolor
insteadofpayingattention.
Itoldmyparentsyouwereannoying.
butitwasn’tyourfault,
itwasmine.
thethirdone:
youwerethefirstto
prescribememedication,
andthatscaredme,
becausethatmeant
Iactuallyhadanissue.
Itoldmyparentsyouweremean.
butitwasn’tyourfault,
itwasmine.
mymomjokesthat
I’mpickyaboutpsychiatrists,
butreally,Ijust
wasn’treadytogetbetter.
Iwasn’treadytobelieve
Ideservedtobehappy.
Iwasn’treadytoadmit
therewasaproblem
inthefirstplace.
Iamstilllearning
toletmyselfgrow.
Iamstilllearning
thatitisnotselfishtoletmyselfbecome
thepersonIammeanttobe.
neptune:
Iusedtothinkthattheopposite
ofdarknesswassunlight,
thattheopposite
ofdepressionwashappiness.
nowIknowthat
duringtheday
therearecloudsandrainandsnow.
outsideofdepression
thereispainandjoyandanger.
afteryearsoffloodanddrought,
whatareliefitis
toseethetideriseandfall
again.
tobaskinblue
withoutbeingconsumedbyit.
toswim
withoutwantingtodrown.
whatareliefitis
tolivealife
Iamexcited
towakeupto.
inhale.
exhale.
yourbodyis
alwaysworking
tostayalive,
evenifyou’renot.
fallasleep.
wakeup.
thebrainknows
whenthesunis
supposedtorise,
whenyoureyes
aresupposedtoopen.
oxidation.
reduction.
newton’sthirdlaw
statesthateveryaction
hasitsopposite,
itsequal,
itspair.
crescendo.
decrescendo.
youwillrisewith
thesymphonyand
fadeoutwiththe
audience’sapplause.
creation.
destruction.
thereisonly
somuchtime
beforenothingness
isrestored.
baskinthisimbalance
foraslongasyoucan.
thisisnotajourney
fromsadtohappy,
frombadtogood,
fromtotaldarknesstowhitelight.
thereisnodestination,
noending,
nopointwhereIcrossthefinishline
andcollectmyblueribbon.
I’mlearningtoliveagain.
Iseepassionandjoyandlove
wherethereusedtobenothing.
butthatdoesn’tmean
Iuntiemyshoes.
itjustmeansIhave
anotherreasontokeepputting
onefootinfrontoftheother.
Ilookathimoutof
thecornerofmyeye,
pasttherimof
myglasses.
mybrainremindsme
thatIamasilenttornado
hedoesnotdeserve
togetcaughtupin.
butthenIremember
Iamdifferentnow.
alittleolder.
alittlemoreindependent.
alittlemoresecure.
thistime,
Idon’tneedsomeone
tosaveme.
thistime,
Idon’tneedproof
thatIamlovable—
IknowIam.
thistime,
maybeIcandoitright.
Ispentsolong
tryingnottodrown.
coughingupsaltwater
feastingonadrenaline
kickingmylegs,
evenwhenmycalvescramped
evenwhenmyfeetbecamenumb
evenwhenIrealized
nolifeboatwasonitsway.
Iamstillintheocean.
thereisstillnolifeboat.
butIamnotdrowning.
myheadistiltedback.
mylegsarelifteduptothesurface.
Iseepinkcloudsinthesky.
ifyouthinkyouaredrowning,
justremember:
youfloatinwater.
thisyear,
Ifellinlovewithmyself.
Itoldmyself
thankyou.
I’msorry.
it’sokay.
thankyouforfightingtosurvive
evenwhenIdon’twantto.
I’msorryIblameyou
forthingsyoucan’tcontrol.
it’sokaythatyou’renotperfect
Iwillloveyouanyway.
now,
Ilookatmyfaceinthemirror
insteadofmybody.
youare
themostimportantperson
inmylife.
Iamthesundaycrossword
andhereyouare,
penuncapped.
fillmein.
eveniftheanswersarewrong,
wecanworry
aboutthatlater.
tomypastself:
nightcannotlastforever.
themoonisonlybright
becauseit’sreflectingthesun.
andthereisasun,
andyouwilllivetoseeit.
tomyfutureself:
daycannotlastforever.
Iknowhappinessisnot
afinaldestination
orarestingplace.
thatisokay.
itismorethanokay.
Iamnotyour
beautifulbrokenmess
tocleanup.
mymentalillnessisnot
ariddleforyou
tosolve,
adecodedmessageforyou
tounscramble.
Ialreadyknowtheanswer:
therapy.
andmedication.
andpouringoutmythoughts
ininkinsteadofblood.
youarenottheanswer.
Iam.
begratefulthat
timewillheal
thewoundsbut
leavethescars.
howelsewillyou
rememberallthat
you’vesurvived?
themostpowerfulword
intheenglishlanguageis
no.
itisrefusal
andcontrol
andaggression
andauthority.
doyoustillloveme?
no.
areyoucomfortablewiththis?
no.
doyouwanttolivelikethisforever?
no.
Iusedtobescared
ofsayingno
beingselfish
makingmyowndecisions.
butthereisstrengthinrefusal.
thereisrevolutioninauthority.
thereisfreedomincontrol.
so,
savoryourstrength.
revelinyourrevolution.
followyourfreedom.
say
no.
frecklesonyourcheek
Itrytoconnectthedots
withcallousedfingers
newconstellations
littledipperlowerlips
acrossmyforehead
galaxiescollide
anewnightsky,startostar
twinearthsignsasone.
Iamdone
beingdelicate.
asagirl,
Iwastaught
tobesweet,
tobedainty,
tofoldintomyself
untilIwasnothing
morethancrumpledpaper.
thisismyunfolding.
Iwillusegunpowder
tosetmymakeup
andgasoline
asmyperfume.
nexttimeyoutryto
burnmeatthestake,
Iwillburnback.
Iwillstartafire
youcannotcontrol.
myprofessortellstheclass
allpoetryisaboutpoetry.
whenIwasfourteen
andfelttheworldclosingin,
Iopenedajournal
andpickedupapen.
myprofessortellstheclass
allpoetryisaboutpoetry.
whenIwaseleven
andlearningtoplayguitar,
Istartedwritingsongs.
itwasfrustrating:
Icouldn’tthinkofmelodies
evenwhenthewordscamesoeasily.
myprofessortellstheclass
allpoetryisaboutpoetry.
whenIwasnine
Iheardawaltwhitmanpoem
sobeautifulthatIgrabbedanotebook
andstartedstructuring
ministanzasinit.
Istillhavethatnotebook,
inmydeskdrawer.
myprofessortellstheclass
allpoetryisaboutpoetry.
Ithinkmaybehe’sright.
thisischalkboardlove.
you’reonmyskin,powderedout
insketchedskeletons.
findmeblankoncemore.
fillintheemptyspaces,
timeandtimeagain.
hidetheeraser.
let’sloseourselvesinourhands,
residueandall.
don’taskforrespect;
demandit.
don’tlookforopportunity;
grabit.
don’taddtotheworld;
changeit.
thisistheexcavation
ofmyadolescence.
Igolayerbylayer,
squarebysquare,
lookingovereverypiece
ofcrackedpottery
andeverystraybone.
Ispentsolong
buryingtheruins
underdirtandsand
andanythingelseIcouldfind.
tryingtopretend
itneverhappened
inthefirstplace.
butitdidhappen,
andthesearetheruins
Ibuiltmylife
ontopof.
sonow,
Idig.
writeapoem.
cutitout.
tapeitontothispage.
mystoryisnotcomplete
withoutpiecesfrom
thepeoplewho
keptitgoing.
a(self)lovepoem:
shepicksathernails
whenshegetsnervous,
butIknowshe’s
tryingtostop.
hereyeslook
brown,
butturnto
caramelinthelight.
shecanstoptheworld
withjustone
clickofherpen.
ittookme
eighteenwholeyears
torealizehow
beautifulsheis;
toseethelightinherlaugh,
thepowerinherpoise,
thewrathinherwriting.
butnow
Iseeit.
andifsheeverforgets,
Iwanthertocomebackhere,
backtothispage.
sheneedstoknowIloveher.
whenIthinkoflove,
Ithinkofplutoandcharon,
thedwarfplanetanditsmoon.
shedoesnotallowherlife
torevolvearoundhis.
instead,shetakeshishand
andtheyorbiteachother,
movingthroughthenightsky.
bothontheirownpaths,
butpulledtogether
astheytumblethroughthenothingness.
whenIthinkoflove,
Ithinkofgravityworkingbothways.
Iwillnotcallmyselftheearth,
andyouthesun.
Idonotorbitaroundyou,
helplesslyfallingandspinning
aroundyouasthecenterofmyuniverse.
thatisnotlove.
loveiswhen
Iampulledtowardyou
andyouarepulledtowardme.
thisismesteppinginto
yourgravitationalfield.
nottoorbitaroundyou,
butwithyou.
somehabits
Iamstillunlearning.
sometimesIstillstopmyself
beforeputtingonashort-sleevedshirt.
andsometimesIrunmyfingersalongmyarm,
expectingtofeelscabs.
buttherearen’tscabsanymore.
sometimesunlearning
issomuchmoreimportant
thanlearning.
yourwritingsavedmylife,
agirlmessagesme.
thankyou,
Itypeback.
itsavedminetoo.
wearemadeof
morethanjust
stardust
andmoonlight
andpoetry.
thereisdirtinsideofus.
thereisstomachlining
andyardsofsmallintestine,
ureaandbile
andhydrochloricacid
andpoetry.
somuchpoetry.
theuglykindofpoetry,
thekindthatburns
onthewaydown
andhurtstwiceasbad
onthewaybackup.
itisnotpretty.
itisnotpoetic.
butit’sthere,
insideallofus.
wearemadeof
spinalfluid
andbacteria
andcytoplasm.
andpoetry.
somuchpoetry.
Iamnotpretty.
Ihaveneverbeenpure
orsoft
orsweet.
Iambeautiful.
dirtstillonmyshoulder
asIrisefromtheground.
scarsformingandhealing
likegalaxiesovermyskin.
Iambeautiful
inthewayIfoughtback
whenIwasburied.
Iturnedthedirtandmud
intosoil,
andgrew.
Acknowledgments
tomyparentsfornotquestioningthesixteen-year-oldgirlwhoannouncedshe
wasgoingtopublishabookonenightatdinner.shedoesn’tsayitoften,but
sheappreciateseverythingyou’vedoneforherovertheyears.
to andrea barzvi and penny moore for believing I could write a book long
beforeIbelieveditmyself.thankyouforbeingpatientwithme,fightingfor
me,andgenerallyjustbeingthebestagentsanyonecouldeveraskfor.
tosarasargentandtheteamatharperchildren’sfortakingaleapoffaithona
random teenager from the internet and hoping for the best. I’m eternally
gratefulforeverythingyou’veputintothisbook.
to natalie farina, nicole jakymiw, and sue silver for making high school
englishclassasafeplaceformetotry,fail,learn,andgrowasawriter.
tomyhometowndisneyprincessesforallowingmetobe100%myself,100%
ofthetime.thankyouforbeingthemostkindheartedandsupportivegroupof
girlsIhaveevermet.
to signe, alexa, catarine, sarah, ashley, jaden, and all the other people on
instagramwhohavebeenendlesslysupportingmeandmyworkoverthelast
fewyears.
and of course, to you. thank you for reading about my dramatic and messy
teenageyears.thankyoufortakingtheseheavyanddifficulttopicsseriously.
but most of all, thank you for making me realize that I was never alone
throughoutallofthis.thankyou.
AbouttheAuthor
PhotobyACVPhotography
CAROLINEKAUFMAN—knownas@poeticpoisononInstagram—began
writingpoetrywhenshewasthirteenyearsoldasameansofcopingwithher
depression. A year later, she started posting it online, and what started as a
personal way to combat mental illness eventually became an account with
hundredsofthousandsoffollowersacrosssocialmedia.Carolinegrewupin
Westchester, New York, andiscurrently a studentatHarvard University.In
the future, she hopes to attend medical school and continue growing as a
writer.
Discovergreatauthors,exclusiveoffers,andmoreathc.com.
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Copyright
LIGHTFILTERSIN:POEMS.Copyright©2018byCarolineKaufman.Illustrations©2018byYelena
Bryksenkova. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By
paymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenonexclusive,nontransferablerighttoaccess
and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage
andretrievalsystem, inanyformor by anymeans,whetherelectronic ormechanical,nowknown or
hereafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofHarperCollinse-books.
www.epicreads.com
CoverartbyYelenaBryksenkova
CoverdesignbyJennaStempel-Lobell
LibraryofCongressControlNumber:2018938080
DigitalEditionJUNE2018ISBN:978-0-06-284469-9
Version05042018
PrintISBN:978-0-06-284468-2
18 19 20 21 22 PC/LSCH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRSTEDITION
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